


Thursday

by randomling



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-18
Updated: 2008-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance gets an unexpected question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pusyzysty](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pusyzysty).



"Tell me something," JC said.

Sprawled out on Lance's couch, legs splayed, holding the wine glass on his chest, he looked like something out of a porn flick. No; a European erotic movie, something tasteful and classy, with subtitles. You could cast JC as some decadent artist, so easy; making long-winded pronoucements on the meaning of life and blowing cigarette smoke up at the ceiling.

Not so different from real life, really.

"Lance?"

"What?"

"Tell me something."

Lance took a swig from his beer bottle, the last mouthful, and settled back in his easy chair. "Sure."

"What are you doing Thursday?"

Lance raised one eyebrow. It was well after midnight, they'd been drinking through the night, and JC was asking about his schedule? "Um," Lance said. "Want me to check my diary? I think I have a lunch meeting."

"You don't have plans?" JC tipped his head back, lifted the wine glass to his lips, and somehow managed a swallow of wine while lying flat on his back. If Lance tried that, he'd end up with wine all over his shirt. "Like, with a guy?"

On a Thursday? Lance blinked. "Nope."

"Huh. Figured you would."

Lance laughed. "Because I'm such a giant man-whore?"

"No, because it's Valentine's Day, dumbass."

"Oh." Lance smiled, shook his head, and shook his beer bottle hopefully. Definitely empty. "I need more beer," he said. You want anything?"

JC looked at him sideways for a second, then smiled back and shook his head, gesturing with his half-full wine glass. Lance thought that was the end of the bottle, anyway. With effort, Lance levered himself to his feet and staggered to the kitchen – he'd definitely had a couple too many beers tonight. Still, that was one of the perks of hanging with one of your oldest friends, and it wasn't going to stop him from grabbing another. He opened the fridge and stared into it. Where the hell had all the beer gone?

"Did we drink it all?" JC asked.

Lance lurched back from the fridge in surprise. JC was in the kitchen doorway, looking surprisingly alert. Lance steadied himself on the fridge. "Uh, I think so." He looked again: JC's jacket was folded over his arm. "Going somewhere?"

"I, uh. Yeah. Home."

Lance frowned. "Sure you don't want to stay over? I'm not short on beds here, dude." It was a little weird being back in his house, so big and empty, after months in a New York apartment. He could do with some company, even in a spare room.

JC shook his head. "I gotta go. But, um. Listen, Lance, I don't think you're a giant man-whore. That's totally not true, you deserve a little fun after everything."

Lance smiled. JC was so sweet sometimes. "Thanks."

"Really, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know, C, it's fine."

"And um. Also." JC shifted his feet on the floor, looked down at them, back up at Lance. "I wondered, if you're not doing anything? If you might like to uh. Have dinner with me on Thursday."

What?

JC stopped talking, and there was dead silence, because Lance couldn't find words anywhere. JC's eyes were on him, and he couldn't manage to look away, because suddenly everything had changed. Hadn't he been entertaining vaguely pornographic thoughts about JC all night?

But. But. It was JC; he'd been having those same thoughts for almost half his life.

Lance took a deep breath. "Am I drunk," he said slowly, "or did you just ask me out?"

JC smirked. "Well," he said. "You are kinda drunk, man. But I also did ask you out." He put his hands in his pockets, and Lance recognized the posture and the expression. Hope. "What's the answer?"

"I. Um. Okay. Yes." The words were out there before Lance had decided to say them, and he felt elated and absolutely sick with terror and he wasn't sure if he wanted to take them back.

JC beamed.

"Okay, man," he said. "I'll pick you up Thursday night? How's seven?"

Lance rifled through his mental diary. He was pretty sure it _was_ only lunch on Thursday. "Seven's fine."

"Great. I'll see you then." And that was it, apparently, no different from fixing up to spend time together this weekend. Lance was still sort of astonished by the whole thing. "Good night," JC said, smiling, and he turned from the kitchen door.

Normally, Lance would be a gentleman and see his guest out, but he couldn't seem to move from the spot. "Good night," he called. He kept holding onto the fridge until he heard his front door open and shut, slightly worried that if he didn't, he might fall down.

He had a date with JC.

The inside of the fridge was nice and cool. Lance folded his arms on its top door jamb, rested his head on his arms, and laughed and laughed and laughed.


End file.
